Just a Man, Just a Boy, Not a God, Not at All
by ThereIsNoAlex
Summary: At seventeen years of age, Xavier De'Frei has seen alot of hurt. Cursed with a violent side, this Son of Hermes is charged with escorting children to Camp Half Blood for 10 years due to his past. But after all he has seen, and all he has done, can he go?
1. Chapter 1

_Well this is bad_

The rain was coming in hard over New York City, laying down a thick blanket of water over the city that never slept. In an alley wedged between two abandoned buildings that reached for the sky like over grown grass, the impossible was happening. But, when you're a demi-god, the impossible becomes your everyday. Both a blessing and a curse. For Xavier De Frei at this moment, it was a curse. Being backed into a wet, dirty alleyway with no escape and being bared down on by three…_ things _were definitely not blessings. They towered over him, huge humanoid birds: like adult men covered in ebony feathers, with wicked beaks and pitch black wings. Tightly gripped in the talons where their hands should have been where ancient weapons, rusted from thousands of years of use. Stymphalian Birds, the ancient pets of Ares, once loyal only to the God of war, but now loyal only to their hunger. He'd been running all day and night through the winding streets of New York, but now he was trapped. In short: He was tired. Standing there in his soaked, black cloth trench coat with his long mop top hair matted against his head, he certainly looked it. Leaning on his long, bronze spear, he breathed heavily. The things didn't slow, taking careful and purposeful steps. He had already vanquished two of their kind today, and they were not taking any chances.

_I can't fight them. This is it. This is the end._ Xavier thought, even though his mind was sluggish from exhaustion. _I just can't do this anymore_. He studied the approaching figures, his relentless pursuers over the last two days. His eyes wandered over the wickedly curved beaks, shining in the moonlight in the badly lit alley way. They did not look pleasant. He could just imagine them ripping into his shoulder. Suddenly, a sharp tug at his pants leg snapped him out of his morbid thoughts. Xavier looked down into the big-as-saucers eyes of Jenny McCall, the whole reason for this little encounter. Nine years old and with strawberry blonde hair, she was just about the cutest little kid he'd ever seen. "Xavier" she said, her voice coming out in a scared whisper "Don't let them get me, Xavier. Please" her voice was pleading now, and her eyes conveyed that message perfectly. Tears welled at the edges of her apple green eyes.

All thoughts of quitting were gone in that instant. In the reflection from her green eyes, Xavier saw everything he had done wrong in his life: all the people he had left, those who he hadn't been able to save. There was not going to be one more person on that list, not one more body to bury. He couldn't do that again. With a sudden vigour, Xavier drew his spear from the ground and dropped into a defensive pose. Jenny backed away, almost frightened by this sudden ferocity. The approaching assailants leapt back suddenly and then regained their composure – after the loss of their comrades, they were jumpy and anxious. However, not all were so composed. One of the man-birds lunged forward, cawing madly, leading with his cruelly curved bronze swords, rusted from thousands of years of use. Wild, ungainly swings would not be enough, however. Deftly, Xavier lunged forwards, and swung with his spear horizontally. He knocked the creatures hand off to this side, opening his guard completely. Acting swiftly, he quickly disarmed the attacker with a quick flick of his wrist, and the sword clattered to the ground. The bird-man had only a second to feel shocked before the tip of the spear drove through his abdomen, and a second more before he turned to dust and washed away in the rain. As if at his call, the lightning in the sky above, illuminating the alley way and shining a brief light on Xavier's face, twisted with rage. A quick glance was shared between the remaining two, before the simultaneously charged, bringing up identical axes of tarnished bronze. Dipping under the wide arc of the first strike, Xavier swept his spear in a wide arc at the monsters feet, knocking them onto their backs. Standing quickly, Xavier drove all his weight through the spear and into one of the prone monsters, which let out a pained squawk before disappearing into nothingness. He stood slowly, the raining trickling over the curves of his back and from the tips of his hair, now hanging wildly in his eyes. Anger, pure unadulterated rage, poured from those dark brown, almost black, eyes. The last bird-man tried to crawl away, soaked in the puddles forming in the alley way. It had to get away, get away from this mad man, this unstoppable force. It wasn't nearly quick enough. Xavier drove his boot into the back of the creature, and it landed face first in a muddy puddle. Without mercy, Xavier drove the tip of spear through the back of its skull. No parting words, no cynical wit, just quiet violence. It died suddenly and quietly.

He turned, and saw the frightened face of his young consort. Xavier almost couldn't understand, the rage was clouding his mind. All of the monsters were dead, how could she still be scared. Then he realised the truth: No there were still monsters. He was still here. Letting his shoulders sag, he sank to his knees. The spear cluttered to his side, shifting back into a rosary bead, topped off with a black wooden cross. He ran his hand through his hair, felt the rain and the wet matting the black locks. He had done it again, lost control. This was his curse, this was his fatal flaw. Suddenly, the exhaustion set back in and he felt like lying down right there in that alley and never waking up again. He stared at the pavement. How could he let himself lose control like that? Hadn't he been taught better? To kill without mercy, in the name of the Gods: that was the mantra of the true soldiers of Olympus. But he knew better. He knew there was always a choice.

He was drawn from his inner thoughts by the familiar touch of a small hand on his shoulder. Drawing his head up, he came eye-to-eye with the deep understanding eyes of Jenny, the innocent. An angel amongst devils. "You're scary" her quiet voice said "But I like you". She flashed a cheeky smile that Xavier couldn't help but return. He stood, picking up the rosary as he went. Quickly, he wrapped it around his right hand and picked up Jenny, lifting her onto his shoulders. "Let's get out of here" he said to her, and they walked out of the Alley. He'd get her to the Camp tomorrow. She could be innocent for one more night.


	2. Chapter 2

_Never forget, Never._

He woke, sweating and shaking. It had been another dream. Another face, another memory. The waking world held these memories of a time long gone at bay, but when he closed his eyes, the flooded back. Failed missions, times he just didn't get there in time. The faces, oh Gods the faces, twisted and screaming, crying out for a release. He had been doing this job for 3 years, escorting the newly awakened demi-gods to Camp Half Blood, the so called sanctuary for his kind. He laughed at this: sanctuary is a myth. No where is safe. Every day is a fight, a struggle. Xavier openly envied the mortals, the oblivious masses. He couldn't even remember a time when he was just happy, not having to fight and kill. He felt regretful, longing for something he could never have again. He was angry, angry at the Gods for making him work this job, this constant train of damnation. These kids were doomed either way; they either were massacred by creatures or taken to camp, trained to fight for the recognition of fickle Gods. Fight and Die. At this moment, Xavier looked over to the sleeping form on the couch. The loft, his own hidden safe house in the upper reaches of an abandoned warehouse, was dirty and grimy: Xavier had salvaged any kind of furniture he could from dumpsters and behind restaurants to furnish his humble abode. A small, gray TV sat atop a cinderblock, buzzing out static. The signal had been out for weeks. Across from the inert TV, lying on a green, broken couch was the current package – Jenny McCall. She had been picked up from an orphanage in Connecticut, on the advice of a local Satyr. She was a sweet girl, very young, innocent beyond comparison. It will be a shame to lose her to the Camp. Xavier rolled out of bed and stretched, his trim muscles flexing at his will. His back seemed to be made of scar tissue – burns, cuts, lacerations: hell, there was even a bullet hole in there somewhere. It had been a tough three years.

He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, a cheap black shirt he had gotten from a thrift store. Being an escort for the Gods didn't exactly leave you rolling in the dough. Swinging his arms in wide circles, Xavier tried to get some feeling back into his muscles, which had tensed over night. Bad dreams do that to you. Strolling, he moved towards the window opposite his cot, and poked a finger through the blinds. Parting the cheap, rusted metal he peeked out into the street below. It was about 6 six in the morning, and the sun had just peaked over the horizon; past time to get going. Pivoting on his heel, he turned back to his cot and gathered his travelling clothes. A long black trench coat was pulled across his back, and left open. Ripped, black jeans pulled up to his waist, the fabric so worn it might as well break. Finally, heavy, steel-toed combat boots pulled up and laced. Standing, Xavier turned to face Jenny, standing next to the couch. She looked determined. "Good morning. Is it time to go?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Xavier nodded as he scratched the black stubble on his chin. "Well past time to go, kiddo. You gotta grab your things, and then we can get out of here and I can get you to Camp by midday" Xavier commanded, motioning to her small rucksack leaning against the bed. Jenny skipped towards the bag, but in the strangest way: as if she was equal parts eager and anxious about the day's events. Xavier couldn't help but feel empathetic. That was exactly how he had felt the first day he'd arrived at Camp. He could only hope she would stay this eager, this innocent, for as long as possible. His fingers wandered over the wooden rosary – it felt so real, but he knew it was only a Glamour, a creation of the Mist. But he couldn't help but feel secure when he was holding it: it was his strength, his means of making sense in a world filled with violence. Some times you have to be a monster to beat the monsters. He had shown that last night. Xavier flinched at the thought: even though they had been threatening their lives, he couldn't help but feel disgusted at his mercilessness. Demi-Gods were renowned for their skill in combat, cutting down foes in swathes. But part of Xavier could never take it that casually, never allow for such complacency when it came to violence. It wasn't a game. Some people tend to forget that. Jenny returned, her pack pulled over her shoulder. It contained all of her meagre belongings – a change of clothes and a water bottle. She was an orphanage child; she didn't have any kind of luxury. Reaching out, Xavier messed up her hair. Cute kid.

"All set?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. "Yep" she replied hurriedly. He looked her up and down again and then snatched his wallet and keys of the bed side table. "All right, let's get out of here" he said, and they strode towards the door of the small loft. It was gonna be a long day.

Red leaned back into the back seat of the Dodge Charger, a beaten up old car that at one time would have been someone's pride and joy. The interior was worn now; he had picked it up for his crew at a junkyard and fixed it up. What had once been an ugly, mustard coloured wreck was now a sleek black machine, HIS pride and joy, his main means of transportation. He called her Betty. He ran his hand over his bald head, as he peered through the windscreen. Sunlight creaked in through the windows, and he covered his eyes. It was uncomfortably bright; he was much better suited to dark places. Reaching forward, he tapped Juliet on the arm, and she swivelled in the driver's seat, blowing her deflated mo-hawk out of her eyes. Dressed in black from head-to-toe, she was the epitome of the punk cliché, and if he didn't know better he'd call her a poser. Red fingered the small flick blade in his hand tentatively. They where waiting. They had been waiting for a while, tracking down these two. He knew Xavier, once upon a time. But he wasn't the goal here, not the reason. He wanted that girl. She would be the one who'd shake this whole town up. As a half-blood, he knew exactly what she was. He could almost sense it. Waves of unlocked potential came off that one. He drove the knife into the already ripped interior, making Juliet jump slightly.

She was the key.

She would be his weapon against the Gods.

With a downward kick, Xavier kick-started the engine of his bike. It was a BMW R1200C cruiser, beaten and worn. He had won it in a game of darts last year against a Cyclops. Long story. Jenny nestled against his back, wearing the only helmet he had. If any one was gonna wear it, it would be the 9 year old. She gripped him around the middle as the launched off, pulling out of the alley way adjacent to the loft building. The street was practically empty at this time of day, besides the slow trickle of traffic. Once they got out onto the main roads, there would be a heavy influx of on coming cars. But Xavier wasn't worried. He'd been riding cycles for a while – this wasn't his first bike. The first bike had been wrecked when he was 13, after he stole it to get to camp. He was a son of Hermes after all, and when he was younger stealing came easy. He had moved on since. The reminder of camp made him flinch. Bad memories. The Battle of the Labyrinth had been one of the worst. Four years since, and he still remembered Kampe. He remembered his friends getting cut down. Then there was the Battle of Olympus. Xavier almost cried at the memory. He had done some bad things, hurt some good people. It had been a bad couple of years. The bike picked up at his command, and they sped off down the street, but Xavier knew that no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't out run his mind. The dreams waited in sleep. The faces. But he knew, above all, that he deserved it.

Betty pulled around the corner and turned to follow at a distance, Juliet steering the black muscle car into the same lane as the bike. They'd wait for their opportunity, and then they'd strike. All the pieces were falling into place. Red leaned back into the back seat and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a match he had struck alight one his boot. His blue eyes focused on the bike ahead. Red retreated into his thoughts.

_I'll never forget. Never… _


	3. Chapter 3

_It had been a long day, one he'd never forget._

_The feel of tension in the air in the hours before the battle. Kids, barely 12 some of them, dressed in bronze armour and given a weapon. For some of those kids, it had been their first summer. For some of those kids, it'd be their last. Then the battle started, and any kind of order just broke into chaos. Innumerable monsters, old as civilisation itself poured from the Labyrinth. Horrific, vicious. Nyads and Satyr's fell left and right, kids threw their weapons to the ground and fled. Kampe, that vicious beast from before time erupting from the earth. Pure chaos. Xavier had been standing in the battle, back to back with his closest friend and companion. Together, the two campers made a wring of death around them – Dracanae were dusted left and right in sudden bursts of dust and rage. All those that dared to enter their circle of blades and fury was felled deftly. "Red! How are you doing back there?" Xavier yelled over his shoulder, into the ear of his companion. His hair was long and hazel brown, tied up in a pony tail out of his eyes. Red's face was tight with fury, his long bronze sword making swift work of Dracanae that had ventured too close. "Don't you worry about me, keep your side safe. I can't do all the work!" He joked, running through another Dracanae. Xavier parried away a Dracanae's strike and lopped of its head with his spear's wide blade. He laughed at that. "I'm getting bored of this, let's move on" he yelled back, trying to get over the din of battle. The deadly pair broke from each other and, after a shared nod, lunged into the fight. There was no remorse here, not yet. At 13 years of age, Xavier was new to conflict. He enjoyed the feeling of cutting through enemies. He enjoyed the power of death. One, two, three Dracanae went down. One managed to put a gash on his arm, but he shrugged it off. He was too caught up in the moment, the fury of battle. Suddenly, he came face to face with a new opponent. Clothed in heavy bronze armour complete with a masked helm and wielding a sword of celestial bronze and with a shield of the same make, the figure was imposing. All Xavier needed to see was the mark of Kronos on the breast plate. He lunged, breaking open the opponents guard. The armoured attacker attempted a clumsy parry, but Xavier was too quick, too well trained. Too eager. Looking back in the years since, Xavier regretted his readiness to kill, his trained precision and mercilessness. But then, it was too soon for remorse, too soon for regret. He plunged his blade through the masked opponent's chest. It screamed. Oh god, the scream. It didn't fade to dust. It bled, crimson life pouring from that chest wound. It splattered over his face. It hadn't been a monster, it was a kid. Xavier snapped out of his blood lust and watched the figure keel over. A final, drawn out breath and then nothing. The world collapsed then and there. Rushing forward, he pulled the helmet off the kid's head. It was a girl, maybe 13 years old. Pretty red hair and freckles over her nose. He recognised her. Becky Drew. She had been at camp the first day he had come. She had taken his hand and then led him around camp, pointing out the forest and the cabins. Then she hadn't come back the next summer. Now she was never coming back. Tears welled at the edges of his eyes. He wanted to scream, let out a cry to shake the heavens. Xavier screamed. He'd never stopped screaming._

With a blink, Xavier returned to reality. It was this place that brought back the memories, this secluded spot on Long Island. Camp Half Blood. Too many unpleasant memories. Too many deaths. He dismounted from his bike, placing the kick stand down and leaning it on the ground. Jenny hopped off after him, removing her helmet and handing it too him. He hung it over the handle bars. She smiled at him – nervous, apprehensive even? He couldn't tell. This would be her new home. She would be a year-rounder for sure; no mortal parent, no home. Just an orphanage in Connecticut. He messed her hair again affectionately, before crouching to face her. "You ready to begin a new life?" he said. She nodded. "Let's get going then" he said, standing and taking her little hand in his. They started up Half-Blood Hill, the barrier between this camp and the mortal world. At one time he would have thought of it as a sanctuary, as a home. But no longer.

Red settled back into the passenger seat of the Camaro, Betty, and peered through binoculars at Xavier from the distance. Juliet had already moved into position, and the rest of the crew were waiting on his orders. This plan had come into fruition hastily, as they had only found out about Xavier's involvement days ago – a fact that changed thing significantly. However, it would go ahead. One phone call separated the plan from the action. Red sneered at Xavier, feeling his shoulder. Old scars never healed. At 17, Red was a bitter man – prone to violence and anger. But that was to be expected from a child of Ares, always at war with everyone and everything, seeking out conflict and revelling in destruction. He had always been the contrast of Xavier in everything, loud where he was reserved, brash when he was cautious. But in battle, they had been the same – lunging for the kill without mercy. Old times and old scars; that's what Xavier was to him, it was all scar tissue now. With a reserved sigh but no remorse, Red lifted phone to his ear, the number already dialled. He breathed into the small piece of plastic for a moment, taking in the full spectrum of his actions. He blinked once, hard and slowly.

"Activate Phase One"

The pair of demi-gods strode up the grassy knoll, their feet making damp imprints in the wet grass. Jenny was smiling nervously, with her back pack pulled over her left shoulder – it was almost as big as she was. Her emerald green eyes shone in the early morning sun. Xavier was not so peaceful. He was on constant lookout – monsters were known to make last second grabs at kids before they got to camp. Xavier's eyes settled on the Dragon wrapped around the infamous tree; it was huge now, as long as a truck with a mouth full of razor like teeth. It was asleep, and if any monster attacked it wouldn't lunge to help – it was there solely to protect the border. Xavier felt Jenny's hand in his as a reassurance that she was still alive: she wasn't another name on the list that scoured his subconscious, a list filled with mistakes and past experiences. But he had to suppress it: there was no point in dwelling on the past, only focusing on the present.

A shrill sound, a knife cutting through the silent veil of early morning broke his mood. A scream, an unmistakably fearful scream. Xavier spun on the spot, instinctively placing Jenny behind him. He gripped his rosary and it sprung forth into its true form – a long, bronze spear tipped with a wicked point and wide blade. It had no name and no designation; it was a tool, an extension of rage and deserved no glory, no title. Xavier zeroed in on the noise's source – an oddly dressed girl, with a deflated punk hair style, screaming and running towards them. But that was the least of his problems. Bounding with increasing speed behind the fleeing girl was an ancient child of Echidna, a forgotten beast of times long gone. A Chimera – the head of a ram and a lion with a two meter long snake for a tail. Not exactly a fun day in the park. "Run!" Xavier screamed, pushing Jenny up the hill. She scrambled up the knoll of wet grass, falling then getting up and continuing anyway. She was desperate to get away. He was not so ready to run. He _had_ to secure her exit, make sure she was safe. The other girl was no where to be seen now – she must have gotten over the hill. With this in mind, Xavier readied his spear and charged at the Chimera, screaming loudly to draw its attention. All three heads turned suddenly to face this new attacker and the abomination let out a deep, frightening roar. But Xavier was not deterred – the fear for Jenny's safety had made the darkest part of him emerge. Despite all the things he had done at the mercy of his rage, it served him well. It was his personal double-edged sword, his damnation and his salvation, his fire and his ice. The Chimera swiped one of its massive claws, but it was too slow – Xavier was already in the air, leaping over the extended claw. He landed on its back, plunging the spear into its shoulder. Bucking, the creature roared in pain as blood spurted from the wound: it would take more than that to fell the beast. With lightening quickness, the snake tail wrapped around Xavier's middle before he could react, hoisting him into the air. It constricted, forcing the air out of Xavier's lungs. He could feel the air leaving him, and his brain went into a panic.

_AIR, AIR, AIR, BREATH DAMMIT_ his brain screamed at him to do something, to escape from this death trap. His fingers groped his pocket, reaching for something he barely remembered putting there. A small metal _caduceus_. He wrapped his gloved hand around the artefact and focused. Suddenly, it shifted – as if reality warped around that tiny metal symbol. It was there no longer: in its place, a bronze dagger wickedly curved. You don't have a plan A unless you have a plan B. Seeing that its captive was still struggling, the snake head moved closer, opening its maw wide for the final kill. Its mouth smelt like death, as poison dripped from its fangs. Centuries old bones were wedged between the dagger-like fangs, and its forked tongue whipped and slathered expectantly. _Close enough, I think. _With one smooth movement, Xavier brought the dagger up and then plunged it _down_ into the creatures head with a satisfying squish. The pure force of the blow perforated the snake's head and followed through its jaw. Instantly, the snake head became limp and Xavier fell, bouncing off the monster's flank and rolling onto the grass, gasping for air with heaving breaths while his hand gripped the knife's hilt. "Too close" he muttered between laden breaths as he tried to regain stability. But before he could steady himself, a blind swing of a front paw brought Xavier back into focus. Barely dodging, Xavier rolled into a crouch. He exhaled slowly and then stood. He was now without his spear, and only had a tiny knife to defend himself. The fiend turned, snarling in pain and fury. Xavier responded in kind, dropping into a guttural growl to match the beast's challenge. It was not the weapon, but the warrior, that won the war and if anything, the camp had taught him to be a weapon. Xavier charged again, his knife poised to strike like a scorpion's tail waits in anticipation of the sting. However, this time the beast knew what he was going to do. While Xavier lunged over the first swipe with ease, the second over-head swat brought him to ground. Hard. Again, all the air was knocked out of his lungs, but he rolled away before he could get pinned by another downward swipe. He was growing tired of this, this back and forth struggle. He didn't give a shit about how old this beast was, how many heroes it had felled. It was time to end it. Without thought, he slashed at the under belly of the Chimera, opening a sickening gash that oozed red ichor between sudden spurts of crimson. A deep creature reared in pain, and Xavier leaped high, clutching at its mane. With a grunt, he pulled himself onto its back. Quickly, he gripped the spear's shaft and yanked it from the flesh. Another open wound. Another roar of agony. Xavier crouched on the creature, holding onto the hair for balance. It had to be perfect, or all of this was for nothing. It all depended on this next move. Bucking again, the creature reared onto its hind legs and Xavier leaped up. The extra lift from the backwards movement launched him skyward, and the Chimera could only look on as Xavier descended like a hawk after a rabbit, spear at the ready. The downward motion of the spear drove it easily through the creature's lion skull, which became limp and roared no longer. A second quick lunge put the spar through the goat's eye. Within seconds, it dusted, leaving Xavier with no where to go but down. He landed hard on the grass. Something cracked. Not a good time at the park, no sir.

Xavier sat up, wincing at the pain. It felt like a fracture, but he couldn't be sure just now. He wasn't bleeding, but he was sore as hell – he had no doubt collected a few new bruises and bumps. Xavier breathed heavily, allowing his mind to come down from the adrenaline high. It was a heady rush, something some people long for every day. Not Xavier. It meant too much pain, too much hurt. Too rash, not thinking. That had always been his weakness: head strong, violent. Angry. He sighed heavily, and reached into his jacket for a now squashed packet of cigarettes. It was a bad habit, but there were worse things that could kill you. And at a younger age too, especially in his 'profession'. He exhaled, allowing his mind to wander, his eyes scanning the area. Jenny was gone, over the hill no doubt. She was safe. Xavier released his control over the spear, allowing it to reform as a rosary that landed softly in his open palm. He could feel the weight of the other weapon, the amulet, return to his pocket – a lot of magical items were enchanted this way. He stretched, and then regretted it as he winced at the pain. A few broken ribs too. Not too good. Tentatively, Xavier pulled a small cube of ambrosia from his pocket and placed it in his mouth, taking his cigarette out as he did. A quick refreshing wave ran over him, and he felt much better. _The food of the gods sure does the trick for all your aches and pains _he mused as he breathed in more smoke, quickly exhaling it. _Nicotine helps too. _

It had been a long day._uld feel the air leaving him, and his brain went into a panic. d take more than that to fell the beast. Echidna, _


	4. Chapter 4

It had been two days. Jenny was out of his care, and Xavier was without a current target. His wounds had healed up nicely, but his ribs hurt with a stabbing pain each time he flexed them. The bones were broken or at-least fractured. He had been taking daily ambrosia dosages to alleviate the pain and force the healing, but it was coming slowly. It was just another harmful side-effect of his particular lineage. The son of a god, more than a mortal but less than a human: an artefact for conflict and glory. Xavier could not blame the defectors during the Titan-Olympian war; it was hard to have faith in a pantheon that actively seemed to despise you. It gave you all kinds of father issues, undoubtedly not completely unfounded.

When not on a case, Xavier chose to scour the magical, mythological community of New York. Unbeknownst to most of the Graduates of Camp Half Blood, there is an active community of older Demi-Gods in Manhattan as well as a thriving community of less than reputable mythical creatures and half-bloods dealing in all kinds of unfriendly things. Xavier spent a lot of his time with the latter. In the dank darkness of Maude's Tavern and Demi-God Emporium ( a fine little tavern situated between two sky scrapers downtown but invisible to those who did not know where to look), Xavier nursed an ale in his left and drew on a cigarette in his right. Even though he was only 17, the owner (the eponymous Maude) was a good friend and they had both owed each other favours over the past three years. When Xavier was looking for a bed to sleep in the early days, when the camp had effectively thrown him out with nothing but the clothes on his back, Maude had supplied a mattress in return for him running errands and, more recently, using him as a de-facto bouncer to break up duels and throw the over indulged patrons out of the establishment. She was an older Irish Woman, with faded red hair that had once held a lot more spark. Wrinkles formed around her eyes, but they still held a cheeky shine not forgotten or paled with the rest of her. She was a firecracker then, and she was a firecracker now.

Old, Delta-blues music leaked out of the dinged up jukebox shoved into a dusty corner, its flickering lights making dancing shapes on the brown, dirty walls. The slow, melancholy guitar sounded almost like a woman crying in the man's hands. His voice oozed out, smooth as cream and butter but tinged with regret and pain

_They call it Stormy Monday, but Tuesday's just as bad_. Xavier took a drink, and looked around the bar. It was quiet tonight – only one other patron in the bar. A man in a suit, small glasses pushed up over the bridge of his nose. His faced seemed…blurry: indistinct from the muddy brown shade of the walls. Xavier chose to ignore it: sometimes, it's just better to not ask questions when the answer was something you really didn't want to know. He looked back to his drink and sighed. It was these down times he hated – it forced him to think, and more importantly, to remember. The only way he'd forget was if he didn't remember. With that in mind, Xavier lifted the drink to his lips and downed it one shot, wiping the corner of his mouth afterwards with a quick dab of his sleeve.

_Wednesday's worse and Thursday's are so sad_

With a loud, thunderous crack the near silence was broken as the door to the bar was thrown of its hinges which bent under some massive force. The door slid across the floor, smashing into the wall directly opposite of the portal. In stepped one very unfriendly looking figure – a beast of a man, in a too-tight suit. His face was squished with anger, and it made his bald head look almost comical if not for a huge, disfiguring scar going straight down his face. Tattooed above his right eye was a stylised Greek Alpha, surrounded by spears and swords – a son of Ares, without a doubt. He brandished bronze hammer in two hands, and hefted it while he searched the room. Settling his gaze on Xavier, he stepped in and grinned.

"Youse the one I'm getting paid to off, yeah? Yeah." The man spat, and preformed what looked like a wink, but it was distorted by the scar and the crinkled composure of his face. Xavier almost reached for his rosary, but retracted his hand before he could grab it – he was not going to kill, not a demi-god. He raised his fists and settled his feet in a fighting stance. The old fashioned way it was. The man chuckled and pointed the hammer at Xavier threateningly. " You're a funny one, you are. Too bad I'm gonna cave your head in."

With lumbering steps, the behemoth charged. Raising the hammer and then bringing it down in one smooth movement, the head crashed into the floor. But Xavier had dodged away and steadied his stance. His ribs cried in protest, but he ignored it. Rage, his old enemy and closest friend, bathed his psyche. Xavier was gone – only the warrior remained. Charging, Xavier dodged under another swing and lead with a frontal kick. The man did not fall but stumbled back, giving him the chance to follow through with a side kick to the mid-section. The breath escaped from the man's mouth as he staggered back, dropping his hammer. Xavier grinned and raised his fist to deliver the final blow. But before he could bring it down, the man suddenly regained composure and jolted forward, smashing Xavier in a back-breaking tackle. It was like being hit by a cement truck and the two smashed through two tables before they hit the wall. Xavier slumped against the plaster and slid to the floor. The man grinned, and lent down to get a good look at his face.

"You are weak, you maggot. You are nothing. You ain't anything but a basta-"

A sharp jab interrupted the last word and the man's nose shattered under the blow, his head jerking back in surprise. Xavier rose, his faced twisted into a rage. Drawing on his spear, Xavier leapt forward and smashed the assailant over the head with the butt of the spear. The man was knocked to the ground, on the verge of passing out. Xavier stood over his attacker, spear raised. He wanted to kill, to get his revenge, to make this man feel every cut and every bruise he had ever felt. He wanted him to feel what he had felt back when he felt anything at all. The juke box whined out the last verse of the blues song with painful accuracy.

_Lord have mercy, oh Lord have mercy on me._

Blinking, Xavier looked down at the figure. He was not that far gone yet – he was still a person, a human being no matter how hard he had fallen. He retracted the spear to its hidden form: a rosary, wooden and almost ironic for what it could do. With a dissatisfied grunt, Xavier knelt down and rustled through the man's pockets. Pulling out what he suspected to be there, Xavier unfolded the dirty piece of paper and read it quickly – it was a hit notice, telling the bounty-hunter where he would be and when. Xavier kicked the man to make sure he was unconscious and went back to his seat. This was definitely not good: if whoever had put out this notice knew his habits, he was in serious danger. But one thought nagged his mind above all others – who had put out the hit in the first place?

Before he could delve to deeply into this train of though, a gloved hand rested itself on his shoulder. Flinching, Xavier turned to face the person who had touched him. He was ready to fight still – he was not going to let some two-bit demi-god hunt him down without a fight. But all thoughts of rage and anger melted away with the sight of the man who stood before him, and was replaced with deep-seated apprehension and wariness. It was a face he had known, a face he shared and a face he had betrayed.

"Father"


End file.
